


PART 1: Elhemina

by the1crazycatlady



Series: Love of My Un-Death [1]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula: Entre l'amour et la mort
Genre: Canon with a twist, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Souled Vampire(s), Vampire Turning, Vampires, radu the handsome dies i'm sorry radu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1crazycatlady/pseuds/the1crazycatlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Vlad Tzepes killed his own brother in order to keep the Wallachian throne, Matthias Cornivus decided that the Prince needed to be removed. He contacted a vampire woman, Elhemina, and persuaded her to take part in a political scheme to kill Vlad.</p><p>And so it begins...</p><p>(Part 1/7)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**Early October, 1467** _

Matthias Corvinus was rumored to be a tall man with broad shoulders and the type of features that would bore into you until you confessed to all of your sins right then and there on the spot.

In all actuality, however, the King of Hungary was short and rather stout. He had the dark eyes of a woman, but they lost any sort of attractiveness because of his failing eyesight; he squinted at everything and made it appear as if he had bad constipation. He was bony-faced, with obvious cheekbones and dark gypsy lips.

Corvinus squinted down at Elhemina from the top of his tall throne.

“Elhemina?” he wheezed. She nodded, curtsying.

“My high and noble king,” she greeted; then she straightened up. “Why didst you summon me, sire?”

He grunted, standing. Slowly, painfully slowly, he stepped down from high and joined the commonfolk – namely, Elhemina. He narrowed his eyes even more and began to circle her like some sort of predator. She hissed at him and he simply guffawed.

“You would not dare attack _me,”_ he stated, pausing in front of her. “The castle is abundant with guards, and if any of them sense anything amiss...” He leaned closer and their faces were nearly touching; Elhemina wanted to gag at how bitter he smelled, but she instead forced herself to keep a blank face.

“...You'll go from being a member of the _Un_ -Dead...” Here Corvinus paused. “To the Dead.” He paused again so his witty remark could get full acclaim, then: “Do we understand each other?”

“Oh, perfectly, my lord.” With as much politeness as she could muster, she took a step back. “Now, if you please, tell me why I was summoned.”

He chuckled softly and straightened up. “How much do you know about Wallachia's voivode, Count Tzepes Vlad III?”

Elhemina cocked her head at him. “I know that he is a ruthless and vicious leader with a passion for impaling his enemies. Nonetheless, he is ruling Wallachia adequately – he is also among that noble group, the Draculas, if I recall... Why do you ask, my lord?”

Corvinus sighed, circling her again. All the circling was starting to get annoying, so Elhemina was happy when the king finally stopped and began to walk back up to his throne.

“Tzepes recently had another skirmish with the Turks,” Corvinus began, settling himself down in the seat and then beckoning for Elhemina to come up. She sighed quietly and obeyed. Corvinus spoke again: “He had to fight against his own brother. Did you know that he grew up among the Turks, Miss Elhemina?”

“No sir, I did not; how fascinating.” Frankly, she found it all exceedingly droll – ironic, yes, but boring nonetheless.

“They both did,” Corvinus continued; “he and Radu the Handsome. Well, anyway, Radu – that was his brother – absconded and joined the Turks. Recently, the Ottomans attacked Wallachia again, and, from what I have heard of the story, Radu and Vlad got into hand-to-hand combat...” He broke off, shaking his head.

“It ended badly?” Elhemina asked.

“Radu lost and was impaled with his men,” Corvinus replied. Elhemina's eyes widened.

“I am afraid,” Corvinus said, “that Tzepes has grown too powerful in recent years. Not only that, but he has shown an unbalanced mental state ever since he began his impaling all those many years ago. I believe that it would be in everyone's best interest if he was removed from the throne.”

“I see your point,” Elhemina replied politely, “but what does this have to do with me? Why has my...'death' sentence been postponed?”

“I sent Vlad Tzepes a letter last month,” Corvinus explained, reaching into his breast-pocket, “asking if he would be interested in taking the hand of my daughter in marriage – as a way of uniting our forces against the Ottomans.” He pulled out a letter. “He went so far as to invite her to a ball in honor of his thirty-sixth birthday, so he could meet her before making a permanent decision.”

There was a silence, as if Elhemina was supposed to say something. However, she had no idea what _to_ say, and, eventually, she chose to wonder what any of it had to do with her.

“Well,” Corvinus began, “I sadly do not have a daughter, and, even if I did, she would not be as useful as a monster.”

“What-” Elhemina cut herself off and her jaw went slack with realization. She quickly shook her head, turning to descend.

“No, my lord, I shall not get involved in any sort of government conspiracies-”

He interrupted her. “If you serve as my daughter, I will see to it that you aren't destroyed.”

She paused, looking back at him.

Corvinus continued: “All you would have to do is get close enough to him until he is willing to sell his soul to make you happy. Then, when you and he are married, you strike.” He snapped his fingers, grinning satanically. “ 'Twill be as simple as that.”

Elhemina shook her head. “I hardly see how having Tzepes as a vampire will help matters any.”

“ 'Tis simple, my dear – if Tzepes Vlad III becomes a vampire, then his people will no longer trust him on the throne. They will kill him themselves, and without a leader, they will be vulnerable. Not knowing you to be a monster, you will, as his wife, take over the throne, and with you as my daughter, this will allow me to conquer Wallachia with no bloodshed to speak of – except for the Impaler's, of course.” He smiled, but Elhemina was quiet.

“Miss Elhemina, do you have a permanent death wish?” he asked.

She shook her head quickly. “No! Of course not, sire-”

“Then what is stopping you from agreeing to this proposal?”

Elhemina was taken aback by the truth of Corvinus's statement – what was stopping her? She had no desire to be destroyed, and imagine the silent glory she'd have of seducing the great voivode of Wallachia! Dreamily, she wondered what he tasted like; the blue blood must be rich and strong, the perfect thing to clench a long thirst.

She sighed. “All right.” She walked forward and sat down on Corvinus's lap; she gritted her teeth.   _“Father.”_

Corvinus smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Late November, 1467** _

The party was a dull affair – a bunch of noblemen and their wives gathered together to dance late into the night, discuss politics, and act as if they were the host's best friend.

Elhemina pulled out her hand fan and began to wave it at herself, trying to push away the overwhelming smells of heavy perfume and a slight mockery of rich, delicious blood. She coughed and people began to look at her, whispering to themselves.

“...foreigner...”

“...who is she?...”

“...does not belong at this gathering...”

Gagging as a woman drenched in violet-scented perfume walked by with her escort, Elhemina put a hand to her head and began to feel faint. People stared and she glared at them, pulling up the hem of her skirt and walking proudly through the crowd of gawkers. Halfway to the balcony, a servant holding a tray of hors d'oeuvres stepped in front of her and began being a little pest.

“Pardon me, my lady,” he began, “but you seem very pale. Would you like something to eat?”

“No thank you.” She stepped off to the side, but he stopped her.

“Some water, perhaps?”

“No,” she hissed. “Thank you, but, really, I am fine. I just need some fresh air.”

“Very well, my lady.” Finally, he let her go. Huffing, she pushed her way through the crowd and eventually emerged onto a grand balcony. The fresh air was a tremendous relief, and she leaned against the rail, letting her head focus itself; she looked out at the courtyard of stakes and sighed.

 _What am I doing here, anyway?_ she wondered. _I do not know the first thing about formal engagements._

She sighed again and came to a quiet decision: the idea was unsettling, but she would have to go back inside and ask around for Tzepes just as soon as she was sure she could bear the cacophony of smells again. She couldn't help but groan quietly to herself.

Elhemina heard footsteps behind her and turned. It was some nobleman with long black hair, chiseled features, and a small white beard; he started at her look.

“Hello, sir,” she greeted, looking back out the courtyard. Surprisingly, people were still arriving, despite the late hour. She shook her head and glanced back at the nobleman.

“My lady.” He bowed. Elhemina stared a moment, then quickly straightened up and gave him a poor curtsy.

“I do not believe I have seen you around here before,” the man noted, stepping up to her left and fleetingly glancing into the courtyard.

“I am visiting from Hungary,” she replied, smoothing down her skirt. “I am here to see the voivode. In fact,” she said, stepping away and making to return to the party, “I should be seeing him now. Do you, by chance, knowst wither he may be?”

“Why do you wish to see Prince Dracula?” he wondered.

“My father and he have begun arrangements for his and my marriage-”

“Elhemina!” the man exclaimed. She started, eyeing him over fully.

“Forgive me, sir,” she apologized, “but I am afraid that I do not know you either. How is it you know my name?”

He bowed again, this time with a bit more flourish. “Forgive me, my lady, for not introducing myself earlier – I am Prince Vlad III, the last Dracula and voivode of Wallachia.”

“Oh!” Elhemina cried, taken aback. “Why, sire - my lord... I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out a hand and he bent down, kissing it; after, he did not release her hand, but held it.

“Um.” Elhemina suddenly found herself at a loss for words. She stared at Tzepes, pursing her lips, then quickly remembered her mission and nodded, smiling and brushing hair away from her neck. Tzepes lowered his gaze to her collarbone and drew in a breath.

“Sire," she continued, "what a lovely coincidence it is that 'twas _you_ who found me out on this balcony.” She smiled and he blinked at her. “Shall we...” She looked back in at the ball. “Shall we dance?”

Tzepes grinned. “Of course.” He led her back into that disgusting sea of smells, then slid a hand around her waist. Elhemina gritted her teeth together, forcing herself to smile and ignore how he suddenly smelled so _good._

“I had no idea that Matthias Corvinus had such a lovely daughter,” Tzepes remarked, spinning her around. She laughed quietly.

“I have been told that I received it from my mother.” That was true, though she was lying a bit about who her mother _was_ exactly. Elhemina smiled again and he seemed to _radiate_ happiness. Elhemina was relieved; at least the seduction wouldn't be a great strain - in fact, it could be fun.

She batted her eyes at him and leaned in close. “So, Prince Dracula, when are we to married?”


	3. Chapter 3

**_Early December, 1467_ **

The marriage was supposed to be in March; however, Tzepes was fond enough of Elhemina that he wanted to move the ceremony up to December, and Elhemina was only too quick to agree to this. The preparations were made. Matthias Corvinus sent a congratulatory letter with the sad remark that he would be unable to attend the wedding, but that he would certainly appreciate a visit from the newlyweds at any time, "whether there be sun, rain, or that strange chance of a moment where there will be neither."

As the snow started falling and it got colder, Elhemina began to notice something about herself.

She was getting thirsty.

Being forced into close contact with Tzepes had led to her memorized his scent: it was sweet and salty, with just the right amount of iron consistency and _oh_. Being around Tzepes had become maddening and she began to fear that she would bite him prematurely and ruin Corvinus's entire plan.

There was no way she could hold out any longer; one evening, she told the Prince that she needed to be by herself for the night.

“What?” he asked, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “Why, my beloved?”

“I am suffering from a horrible headache,” she lied, smiling weakly at him. “I would like to rest.” She laughed softly and reached up, pulling him down for a kiss. “And you know how I refuse to be seen in the daytime, my prince. I promise I shall worthy of your visage tomorrow evening.” She kissed him again.

“Oh, Mina-” He reached for her hand and she batted him away.

“My lord, tomorrow night, I promise you.” She opened the door to her chambers. “Then, soon, we shall be wed, and _then_ you'll be mine for all eternity.”

Tzepes sighed, his eyes in that fuzzy, blissful state of true love. “Good night, Elhemina...”

She blew him a kiss and closed the door quietly, locking it. She then quietly pressed her ear to the door; she didn't hear anything at first, but then Tzepes began to walk away, mumbling to himself about “women's strange habits.” She smiled and backed away.

Pushing open the bedroom window, Elhemina found that it had started to snow. The view from her window was spectacular, really – a landscape dotted with white flakes that went on for miles, hills like waves in a great sea. The little people in the village below were bustling along with their lives, voices faintly carrying up to the castle while their figures danced in front of an orange fire.

Elhemina kicked off her shoes and removed the bulky layers of her skirt. She tossed the discarded items onto the bed and climbed out the window. It was an easy enough matter to morph into a bat and fly right over the unsuspecting guards' heads. When she'd landed in the village, she couldn't help but laugh over how utterly simplistic it had been.

There was some sort of celebration – everyone meandered around the square and children danced in circles. There was a great big bonfire lit in the center of the square, and it cracked and spat at the villagers, casting their dark shadows against the sides of ramshackle houses.

Elhemina ducked into an alleyway and inhaled deeply, hand over one breast. Then she straightened up, ran her fingers through her hair, and hurried out of the alley with loud sobs.

“Oh!” she cried. People started and looked at her in alarm.

“Oh, Lord have mercy! Oh!” She curled in on herself, gasping.

“Ma'am,” someone said; “ma'am, what is it?”

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. It was a young man in his early twenties – he was sprinkled with freckles and had flinty eyes. He smelled strong and wonderful and Elhemina purred, flinging herself into his arms.

“Oh, 'twas horrible!” she shrieked. “These men – they tried to rape me! Oh, Lord help us!” She shook and sobbed, clutching tightly at his shirt.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “They're gone now. Ah, I'll keep them from comin' back for you.”

“What did the men look like?” a woman asked, holding her child close. In response, Elhemina shook her head and sobbed louder.

“Let her be!” the young man snapped. “Can't yeh see she's been through a horrible shock?” He patted her on the back. “There, there...”

“Oh, thank _God_ there are still good men like you in this world!” Elhemina exclaimed.

“Let's get you somewhere to rest,” the man suggested. He glanced back at the other people for a moment, then wrapped an arm around Elhemina and led her into the darkness. She smiled behind her hands and sobbed louder.

Together, they walked through the snow-riddled streets. Once certain they were alone, Elhemina sighed and rested her head on the young man's shoulder.

“Thank you, good sir,” she breathed, “I do not know what I would have  _done_ had you not stepped forward.” She kissed his cheek and he jumped. She smiled and pulled an arm around his neck, pulling herself up and kissing him on the lips.

“Mm!”

“Hush,” she whispered, brushing back his hair and kissing him again. She backed him into a building and smiled at him, slipping a hand up his shirt. He stared, then quirked up a corner of his mouth and awkwardly clutched at her petticoats. She sighed and leaned in, pressing her lips to his ear.

“What's your name?” he breathed. “Where did you come from?”

She chuckled softly. “ 'Tis of no importance.” He closed his eyes and she went in for the kill. Snarling, she jerked forward, plunging her teeth into his neck. He screamed, trying to shove her away; she would not budge.

His knees began to buckle out from beneath him and Elhemina pulled him close, savoring every last drop. She growled, preparing to kiss him again as a sort of reward for tasting so wonderful.

But then someone cried out. Startled, she pulled away from the man, whirling around; villagers were beginning to surround her. She cursed quietly – they must have heard the screams.

“Nosferatu!” a villager cried. Elhemina let go of the young man and, groaning, he slid down to the ground, his blood splattering onto the hem of her dress. She looked down at him, then hissed at the villagers, morphing back into a bat.

Unarmed, the villagers could do nothing but reach out and try to grab her. She tittered at them, ducking easily out of the way and ascending. They swore at her, then looked down at the young man and realized their new problem.


	4. Chapter 4

**_One Week Later_ **

Vlad had heard of love at first sight, but of course he had never really believed in it. After all, what was love? From what he could make of it, it was the rare emotional attachment between a man and a woman that hardly ever appeared in marriage. He hadn't really fancied much of the idea of marrying, but joining forces with Hungary would certainly mean bad luck for the blasted Turks, so he had agreed to the idea.

At the time of the agreement, however, he had had no idea that the princess would be so beautiful and alluring.

He loved everything about her; he loved her strange passion for the night to her pale white skin to everything else that made her so bizarre. She was beautiful, and she loved him.

He loved her.

The wedding was a blur of excitement. He had barely paid attention, and, looking at Elhemina, he knew that she hadn't either; both were too excited for what would happen afterwards.

In Vlad's chambers later that night, Elhemina said that she had to go freshen up and get into something more “comfortable.” She kissed Vlad and disappeared into the adjoining room. Vlad sat down at his windowseat to wait.

Elhemina was the best thing that had happened to him, and he had Heaven to thank for the joy he felt every time he saw the woman, even when she was upset or less than the best. Oh, but she was always the best, even when at the worst; she couldn't be anything but herself – the best – and he loved her for that.

Vlad looked up at the sky and began to mumble, “Oh, Lord, I thank Thee for Your forgivance for having made the war. I thank Thee for Elhemina.” He smiled as the cause of his life came into the room in her slip and laid down on the bed. She smiled back at him, reaching out and beckoning him over; Vlad felt himself drawn to her by some uncontrollable force that tugged on his entire being.

“My Prince,” she began, laying back in bed, “do not speak to God. He does not hear your voice.” Something like amusement shined briefly in her eyes, and Vlad smiled at her. He was pulled over and he laid down next to her in bed, wrapping his arms around her.

Elhemina kissed Vlad and happiness bubbled inside him; he pulled her close, running his hands along her thigh and whispering, “Love of my life.”

Ehelmina didn't reply like she usually did, but instead tugged at his shirt. He pulled aside the slip and kissed her shoulder – she nuzzled at his neck and kissed him, opening her mouth and pausing for a moment. Then she breathed on him and kissed his neck again.

“Elhemina, you are so quiet,” Vlad remarked, pulling away. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, yes,” she admitted. Then she cringed and turned onto her other side. “But it is something you cannot know. 'Tis a horrible secret.”

“Oh, Mina...” Vlad shook his head and put his hand on her waist. Chuckling quietly, he pulled himself closer to her. “We are married now, for all eternity. Whatever this horrible secret is, I do not care to know or not know. I know all I must know...” He kissed her jaw and she tensed. “...all I need to know...”

“My Prince,” Elhemina began after a pause; she looked at him over her shoulder, “I was betrothed to you, but I already loved you, even then! I have been destined for your arms since the day of my birth.”

“Then why are you suddenly so upset?” His dark eyes twinkled, and Elhemina lowered her gaze, rolling over to face him. “The future is bright and awaiting our happiness.”

“Oh, I swear to you that we will be happy,” she replied, wrapping her arms around him, “but an evil arises to tear us apart!”

He sat up, squinting down at her – Elhemina inhaled a sharp breath.

“What are you saying, Elhemina?” Vlad asked. “You speak as one gone mad – nothing, not even walls, can separate our love.”

“Oh, my lord...” Elhemina threw herself into his arms. “I carry within me my heavy secret. You see, I am the queen of an empire that shall never live in peace...it will lead to your destruction!” She trembled in his arms, but Vlad just shook his head and rocked her back and forth. She sighed, then pulled her arms around him again.

He began to lean back. She crawled onto his lap and began to kiss him.

Sometime, in the future, this man would become a legend. He did not know it then, nor did he know what was happening inside Elhemina's dead heart as she bent down and whispered into his ear: “Sire...master...my only love...you have just let a monster into your bed.”

Before Vlad could even briefly think about what this declaration might mean, she sank her teeth into his neck. He cried out, but soon his voice caught on something and he couldn't do anything more than breathe, wail, and whimper, the world fading in and out around him.

He began to die.

\+ + +

They were disturbed by the door crashing open. Vlad vaguely saw Elhemina pull away, her mouth stained red. The pain in his neck died down and he felt his shoulder become wet and sticky; he moaned, reaching out for his darling Mina.

People hurried into the room, brandishing wooden stakes. They circled the bed, chanting Elhemina's name over and over again. Vlad tried to ask what was happening, but he was too light-headed. What was going on? Why were they being disturbed on their wedding night? What were those red stains on his wife's slip? Why did his neck ache? Ah, too many questions – they made the world spin.

“Here she is!” someone cried out. Turning his head, Vlad saw the Regent – he tried to sit up, but oh, how everything swam.

“The wife of Satan!” the Regent spat. “Damned whore of Hell!”

“Whore of Hell!” the people cried. “Whore of hell! Wife of Satan! Whore of hell!”

They had the clothing of commoners – but why would peasants be in Vlad's bedchambers, armed with stakes? None of it made any sense.

Elhemina hissed at them, leaning over Vlad before jumping off the bed and rushing at them. Together, they circled her until she was trapped. She snarled and spat like some sort of animal.

“Elmina...” Vlad muttered, resting his hand on his forehead. His lips were wet with something and he shuddered, licking them and groaning.

“She bit our Prince in the neck!” the Regent cried. “Beware! He is infected!”

Infected? With what? Vlad gasped, air suddenly so very hard to pull in. He hacked and spluttered, choking on something salty in his throat.

“He must be locked up!” From behind the Regent came two soldiers; they grabbed Vlad's arm and pulled him off the bed.

“Leggome!” he cried, struggling. Something dripped from his neck and landed on a soldier's arm.

“You go!” the people cried, waving their stakes at Elhemina. “You are going to die!”

“No!” Vlad protested. He yanked himself from the soldier's grasp and flung himself forward. The ground hurt to hit and he cried out, his head growing heavy. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe...

“Queen of Darkness!” the Regent declared, pointing at Elhemina. “There! The penalty is death!”

“No,” Vlad mumbled, blinking and pushing the soldiers away.

Elhemina hissed, running towards the closed window.

“Kill her!” they cried. “Kill it!”

The soldiers tried to grab Vlad's arms and pull him away, but he swatted them back again, bowing his foggy head to the cool stone floor. Tiredness overwhelmed him.

The Regent glanced down at Vlad. “She who won the heart of the Prince took his blood and bled him dry!” He spat over in Elhemina's direction. “She must die!”

“No...” Vlad muttered again, turning over onto his back. His neck burned with an invisible fire, but the water dripping from it wasn't quenching the flames. What was going on? Why did they all hate Elhemina so suddenly? “Mina...”

“Kill her! Kill it!” They cornered Elhemina at the window. “You will die!” they spat. “You will die!”

Elhemina looked helplessly over at Vlad's supine form, then narrowed her eyes at the villagers. “Perhaps my body dies today,” she said, “but my love will live for eternity!” A villager took his stake and plunged it forward. Vlad wailed and Elhemina screamed like a banshee, blood streaming down from her eyes like tears.

“My love!” she shrieked, spitting blood everywhere. Her eyes bugged out wide and she fell to her knees, collapsing forward. The stake plunged itself further into her beautiful body and resurfaced on the other side, stained red. Then she fell forward, head askew; blood dripped down from her lips. Her favorite choker slid up a bit and revealed two identical black marks on her skin, right above the jugular vein.

_“Nosferatu!”_


	5. Chapter 5

**_The Next Night_ ** **_  
_ **

Cold.

Everywhere was cold and damp and water dripped down into a puddle at his feet. When Vlad looked around, he saw that he was surrounded by stones covered in cobwebs and mildew. His neck throbbed, and the first thought he had was why on earth Elhemina wasn't there. The second thought was a replay of everything that had led to him ending up in such unfortunate surroundings – the biting, the villagers, the impaling... He wanted to scream when he remembered how mercilessly they had sliced off Elhemina's beautiful head and stuffed her gorgeous mouth with that garlic that had made him feel so sick inside, like his entire body would crumble and die.

And that's precisely what happened - he had died. Vlad shuddered at the nightmarish memories of everything inside him dissipating away and he stood up. But he quickly choked and collapsed, banging a fist against the wall and shaking his head.

“Чуєш,” he coughed out. _Harken._ “Чуєш, соколе ясний...” _Harken, bright falcon._ He turned, pressing himself against the wall and sliding down to the floor. He looked up at the wretched stone ceiling in the wretched stone dungeon cell. His eyes were stinging and rimming red, and when he put a hand to his cheek, he found blood on his fingers. He lowered his hand and pulled his knees in. He held them close.

This wasn't a nightmare - this was real.

“Прийди,” he mumbled, craning his head back, “приходь до нас.” _Come...come to us._

His stomach suddenly churned and his throat burned. He gagged, flopping forward onto his knees and wrapping his arms around his body. He hurt everywhere, and it was so difficult to breathe. He whimpered, acid bubbling up in his throat. He gagged again and everything inside him came out and splattered onto the floor. He saw his last meal, the wedding cake, and a few things that looked disturbingly like body organs.

Fifteen minutes later, when it was all gone, Vlad moaned, lying on his side and pleading with God to stop the spinning in his head – as a way of proving that He still existed, He just had to make the world stop moving. _Please._

None of this would have been so horrible if she had been there. Now her all her strange behavior made sense. She'd never eaten his presence, refused to be seen in the daytime, and then had been so pale... He loved her anyway. He loved Elhemina, the vampiress. She had made him what he was. She was why he was in the dungeons.

Tired all over, Vlad looked over at the door of his cell. Elhemina was dead; fire raging through him, he screamed, flinging himself forward. The door collapsed down, dust flew into his face, and impact with the floor barely scratched him. That hurt him more – there was no point in having no pain and being like this, a horrible immortal _monster_ , if Elhemina wasn't there.

He should have tried to save her.

Dracula laid there, coughing as dust tickled at his throat. Groaning, he pulled himself up onto his knees, and it finally hurt inside. He breathed in short spurts of insane laughter. Imagine, a monster in pain! The all-devouring wolf _aching!_

He cut off the laughter and stood up, peering through the darkness. Light broke through from around the corner ahead of him and revealed a stone staircase covered in dust and green moss. Slowly, his bones aching inside and caging in his dead heart, he ascended.

The castle was absolutely deserted, though he didn't know why. He also didn't care; he stumbled into the foyer and looked around – flowers were dying by the staircase, the carpet was vacuuming up dust, and there were the portraits of himself and Elhemina over the fireplace. Dracula choked up and his vision went red, his cheeks wet and sticky.

Why didn't she tell him? Did she think he would have cared? He wouldn't have – he loved her too much. And now he was like this, a _demon._

Alone.

“Oh, Elhemina...” he muttered, reaching out for the portrait. But he quickly pulled his hands away; they were stained with blood, and that would, while giving the painting more realism, cause irreversible damage to the masterpiece.

Dracula sighed. Turning away was difficult, despite the fact that his heart was dead. He was dead. _Dead._ What was death if he was alive? No, he realized, he wasn't Dead, he was Un-Dead and in love with the woman who had made him that way – and now she was gone. Forever. No way to get her back now.

But he would have to try, even if it drove him insane and he withered to dust after seeing her again. He just _had_  to have her back, no matter the cost.

He reached out and dug his fingers into the curtains that blocking the moonlight. He had a fleeting image that the drapes were the scalps of everyone who had done himself and Elhemina wrong and he gripped harder, yanking. Plaster broke and rained down on his head, but he pulled harder and the curtains fell. He turned and began to yank more of the curtains down. Silver moonlight lit up the room, making everything sparkle. Outside, the sky was weeping with him – perhaps God was sending down His respects. But what did He care, He had taken Dracula's sweet Mina from him. He was evil.

Who would help Vlad Tzepes now, who would help the tyrant? After all, the universe had no pity if it took Elhemina from him. Damn the universe, damn everything – it would soon be burned away. All Dracula had to do was wait and go with it.

Looking out the window, he suddenly started. There was a woman calling to him. _Elhemina?_ He ran out of the castle and onto the front walkway, but there was no one. He was alone, standing in the rain whose purity slowly started to burn his skin. Always alone and always in pain – he was dead, and would only continue to die every moment he was separated from his sweet princess, his darling Elhemina.

Things were going to be so wonderful. He and Elhemina would have had all their lives ahead of them – he had wanted children to love and nurture, all while holding Elhemina close and never letting go of her. He was going to protect her from the horrors of the word; but all along it turned out to be him who needed the protection.

He was the last Dracula. Who would govern Wallachia? Thinking it over, he realized that the throne would be given over to Matthias Corvinus, the King of Hungary. Dread clawed at him, but indifference quickly washed it away. Who cared about the country? It would all go to hell, regardless of who it was that ruled. The leader would only be there to take the blame.

Dracula's death would be avenged, and so would Elhemina's – so much worse it would be for the innocent. The guilty parties would be found, tracked by an evil bird of prey. If they weren't found, then their families would suffer. Dracula literally had all the time in the world.

Or perhaps...perhaps everyone would kill each other. Looking ahead, there was nothing but a great field of ruin under a sun that tore and killed the forests beneath. Everywhere: blood, tears, cries. The human race would be its own demise. Madmen would ride great iron birds that shot down at their brothers below. The sick part was that it would all be in the name of God.

Everyone would die. They would kill each other, or at least drown in the ocean of blood. And where would Dracula be? He would be up there, high in his Wallachian castle, watching the dead and dying and now and then killing a few out of mercy and thirst.

When the wind screamed, he would hear what the deaf heard. He would wait, Un-Dead and alone, forever in solitude. What use was it to live eternally amidst the ashes if he was alone, torn between love and death?

Such was his fate – forever torn between love and death.


End file.
